


Unholy Spirit(s)

by SenZen_Travers



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Drunken Flirting, Explicit Consent, Father/Son Incest, First Time, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Incest, M/M, Multi, Sibling Incest, The Sparda are great at alcohol, Threesome - M/M/M, Twincest, Uncle/Nephew Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 17:30:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21413956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenZen_Travers/pseuds/SenZen_Travers
Summary: Vergil glared at them. His face was flushed, his hair falling into his eyes, and though he looked like a sudden gust of wind could blow him over, he still tried to get to his feet. He was held together by pride and demonic toughness and Nero shouldn’t have found it hot.“I can still drink.”Vergil decides to catch up with Dante's drinking abilities. Nero finds himself helping, somehow. Common sense doesn't quite prevail.
Relationships: Dante/Nero/Vergil (Devil May Cry), Nero/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 245
Collections: Spardacest Server Fics and Art





	Unholy Spirit(s)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GlueSalt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlueSalt/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [Unholy Spirit(s)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26042536) by [Purrjurer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purrjurer/pseuds/Purrjurer)

> Edited by the very, very cool [Sootandshadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootandshadow/)! Coincidentally, do you know she also wrote DVN? And that her writing is amazingly sexy? If you want another threesome fic with some really cool take on demon instincts and flawless writing, rush [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21404542) and enjoy!
> 
> I was blessed with an amazing giftee, so this fic was written for the lovely, talented and creative [Gluesalt](https://twitter.com/gluesalt/). Check out her beautiful illustrations and cute AUs!
> 
> On a more sober (haha) notes, while there is no drunk sex or alcoholism in that fic, there is a lot of alcohol talk. Please be careful about that if it's triggering for you!

One thing about Dante was that he didn’t know when to shut up. According to Vergil, his twin had been born that way. According to Dante, it was the pot calling the kettle black.

As far as Nero was concerned, they were both just dumbasses, and he wasn’t afraid to tell them so.

“Look who’s talking,” Dante retorted as they carried Vergil upstairs. “You’d backtalk Mundus even if he was kicking your ass.”

“Whatever. At least I wouldn’t_ goad_ my brother into an alcoholic coma.”

“You’re so dramatic. You can’t take a demon out with a little alcohol!”

“Yeah, well, he sure looks drunk and unconscious to me.”

“He’s gonna get better,” Dante affirmed with a careless wave of his free hand.

Nero debated punching him with one of his arm-wings but decided it could wait until they’d laid Vergil to rest. Between them, his father let out a soft grunt.

“See?” Dante said. “He’s already getting better.”

Nero didn’t grace him with an answer. Vergil merely frowned deeper when they dragged him onto the twins’ bed, his sword hand clenching into nothingness, and Dante made a fond noise.

“He’s such a killing machine.”

It definitely sounded like a compliment. Nero wished he didn’t get it on some instinctive, demonic level. Kyrie wouldn’t have wanted him to think like that –

But he was living with the twins, now, ever since he’d broken up with Kyrie for her safety, to protect her from the demon that surged inside him every time they touched. He’d wanted (what the twins had) to bond with his blood family and, well,it _was _working — far too much, if he was being honest. Ever since he’d stepped into the shop and Vergil had said, in lieu of welcome, “me and Dante are sleeping together”— which was probably the first time he’d seen Dante look _that _dismayed (and probably the last) — Nero’d had… ideas. Fantasies.

And it _was _true that Vergil’s constant readiness to fight was kinda sexy but he shouldn’t–

There was a sudden movement and Nero threw himself back just in time to avoid an elbow in the stomach. Already halfway up, clothes ruffled and hair tousled, Vergil blinked into awareness. His pale, vivid-blue eyes focused on Nero and Dante with some effort.

“I... wasn’t here before.”

Dante grinned at him. “Yup, you were in the living room, getting trashed because you couldn’t keep up with your _little brother’_s pace –”

“Dante!” Nero snapped at him.

Vergil glared at them. His face was flushed, his hair falling into his eyes, and though he looked like a sudden gust of wind could blow him over, he still tried to get to his feet. He was held together by pride and demonic toughness and Nero shouldn’t have found it hot.

“I can still drink.”

Oh _hell _no.

“You can’t,” Nero snapped. “The drinking competition is _over_.”

“No. I can still drink. Give me another glass.”

“No,” Nero retorted firmly.

Dante eyed him cautiously.

“Hey… Nero. You know, Vergil has pride.”

Nero knew that tone. He glared at his uncle.

“Yeah, well, no more drinking anyway.”

“I’m just saying, I can understand –”

Nero glared at them. Sometimes, the twins could be pushed – or let themselves be pushed, same difference. Sometimes, though, they both got it into their heads that they needed to do something and nothing could alter their course to Dumbass City. Usually, it was over the little things: they fought over pizza toppings, accused each other of being on laundry duty this week, or else launched into some dumb competition that always ended badly. On these occasions, gods forbid that Nero tried to solve the problem himself, or even worse, apply some kind of logic to the whole thing: they went into full Sibling Rivalry Mode and any outside intervention just made them sulk.

Right now looked like one of those times, with Dante fully supporting Vergil in his quest to discover if demons could get hungover. How much had they had to drink? Nero had arrived too late to know.

“Whatever. Do what you want. You’re the ones cleaning it up if anybody pukes.”

Vergil glared at him. Dante grinned.

“Thanks, Nero!”

Dumbasses, the three of them.

***

From that time onward, Vergil actually started _training _his alcohol resistance. 

Nero looked at his father. At first, he’d thought Vergil was hard to read; with time, he now realized that the elder twin was just economical with his expressions. He wasn’t going to mobilize his whole face when a simple frown could do. The trick was recognizing which subtle variation meant what, especially when Vergil wasn’t always sure himself.

This, though? Definitively disgust.

“You don’t even _like _beer,” he pointed out accusingly.

“Indeed,” Vergil acknowledged.

Nero waited a beat. Vergil looked at him, raising an elegant eyebrow as he sipped his can of beer. Sitting on Dante’s shitty sofa with his flawless clothes and his straight-backed grace, he looked like a vampire prince having recently fallen into dire straits. (Everybody, Nero included, had thought that Vergil would put Dante’s home into order the minute he’d moved in, but he was actually even _worse _than his brother at housekeeping. At least Dante knew he was supposed to _dust_ from time to time.)

Nero snapped.

“You could at least try different alcohols, you know? It’s just frigging ridiculous, seeing you drink your beer like some kind of condemned criminal.”

“I already tried wine, whiskey, vodka and bourbon.”

“Those are just Dante’s favourites! Maybe you like fruity things. Mojito? Cocktails?”

Vergil’s gaze turned thoughtful.

“How alcoholic are they?”

“Depends.”

“I will try them out.”

He rose from the sofa, clearly intent on leaving right now, at near midnight, to look for fruity drinks. Nero was suddenly reminded of comatose, ‘_I can still drink_’ Vergil.

“Oh yeah? Well, I’m feeling in the mood for drinking too. Mind if I tag along?”

Vergil looked at him with an attention that Nero didn’t know how to interpret. He nodded as if for himself, then once more toward Nero — he’d taken a decision, whatever it was.

“Not at all. I don’t know the bars here. I’ll be depending on you for advice.”

As it turned out, Vergil despised mojitos, frowned at punch, and disliked the coca-vodka mix that was all the rage this season. They had no time to investigate any further because the end of his Bloody Mary was also _his _end: Vergil went from “articulate and slightly amused” to “sleeping on the bar” in one deceptively controlled fell swoop.

“We’re going home,” Nero informed his father as he hoisted him up, one arm under his shoulder, and pulled him from his stool.

Vergil grumbled something, half-conscious, but let himself be dragged away. They were half-way to the DMC when demonic regeneration, alas, did its thing.

“I was in a bar with you,” Vergil suddenly said.

“Yeah. You’re now in the street with me.”

“You’re bringing me home.”

“That’s right.”

“I can still –”

“Yeah, but your amazing guide can’t, so we’re going home. No being drunk in public, it’s not safe.”

“I know,” Vergil said in such an ‘_obviously, I’m perfectly aware of the situation as my son drags my drunk ass home_’ tone that Nero forgot about diplomacy for a hot second.

“Oh yeah? ’Coz it sure seemed like you were ready to go drink alone before I offered to tag along.”

“I knew you’d offer. You’re a kind boy,” Vergil answered matter-of-factly.

Nero felt himself blush, torn between pleasure and anger – coming from Vergil, he felt like the statement could be praise or criticism, or both. He couldn’t see Vergil’s face, half-carrying him as he was, and he wasn’t _that _good at reading him yet.

“Well, next time, we’re doing a shopping list of what you want to drink and we’re trying cocktails at home. You’re gonna go bankrupt if you try every drink in every bar.”

He’d said “next time.” Why had he said “next time?” There would be no next time. He had more valuable things to do with his life than help his father one-up his uncle, like… literally _anything else_.

Vergil nodded thoughtfully.

“I see. Good idea, Nero.”

No, no feeling pleasure at his deadbeat dad’s praise. Nero was not _that _easy.

(He was. Fuck.)

Silence fell for a couple of seconds, and then Vergil nuzzled at Nero’s throat. Nero almost dropped him, all the blood in his body rushing South without any regard for propriety or, you know, the fact that this was his father.

“Vergil!” He definitively didn’t squeal.

“I’m drunk.”

Nero gaped, unable to find an answer to that. Having his father so close certainly wasn’t helping matters either. Vergil’s skin was warm and his mouth so incredibly soft against Nero’s neck – slightly open but unmoving, small puffs of breath caressing his throat along with the occasional brush of his father’s lips. Nero could imagine them brushing against _other _parts of his body, those teeth scraping against the inside of his thigh, and he’d always wondered –

Drunk. Vergil was drunk. He was just doing weird drunk things, as he’d just explained. Maybe he was trying to rest his face against Nero’s neck or some weird shit.

Or maybe he was mistaking him for Dante.

The idea alone extinguished Nero’s arousal immediately. He shrugged Vergil off, scowling.

“I’m not Dante!”

“Obviously,” the asshole had the gall to answer.

“Then don’t do that on my neck!”

“Why?”

Nero struggled to put together an answer that didn’t use the words “hot” or “sexy.”

“I don’t like it,” he said firmly.

“Hm.”

Nero waited for a counterpoint. It didn’t come.

That night, he dreamed of Vergil’s lips brushing against his torso, of Vergil’s tongue firm and wet around his nipples, of Vergil’s mouth against his abs and between the jut of his hip bones until it slowly, slowly caressed his dick, took it whole, gagged on him, and dream-Vergil made a low noise at the taste like the kind of noise Nero heard through the walls, some nights, when he could make out Vergil’s panting or Dante’s loud moans and the wet, obscene sounds of their coupling) –

Nero woke up hard and wanting, the fabric of his boxers damp against his skin.

Even thinking about naked Agnus couldn’t save him this time.

***

“So, Vergil told me you helped him train?” Dante grinned, ruffling Nero’s hair.

Lately, he’d developed a weird habit of letting his hand slide down to Nero’s nape and linger, his long, powerful fingers brushing Nero’s skin _just so_, like Vergil’s lips on his throat had that one time, and fueling the same trembling lust in Nero’s veins. His demon liked it. His demon _loved _it. His demon wanted to bite down on his elders’ necks and make them submit and fuck –

Scowling, Nero batted Dante’s hand away. A second too late to really pretend he didn’t like it, as always, and he knew it. Hell, they both knew it. He glared at Dante anyway, just to keep up the pretense.

“You’re too cocky. Someone needs to help Vergil catch up to you so you’ll learn to stop bragging.”

“So kind of you to devote yourself to the cause,” Dante drawled with a grin. “Want to bet on a prize for the winner?”

“Don’t try to pretend you can afford one,” Nero retorted.

His uncle laughed and pretend-punched him.

“You little – maybe I’m saving money for a special occasion, you ever thought about that?”

“More special than the two last months’ rent?”

Dante raised his hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay, meanie. Payment in kind, then?”

Nero firmly fished his mind out of the gutter, where it seemed intent on making itself right at home. He wished Nico or Lady were here. His only experience with flirting was seeing Trish, actresses on TV, or the occasional succubus in action, and their seduction techniques were to flirting what nukes were to stabbing. But the way Dante was behaving lately… Nico or Lady would have told him if he was deluding himself – not that it could be anything but that. The twins were together, after all.

Nero was just being a pervert now that his uncle was finally affectionate. _Great_.

“Daydreaming, kid?”

Nero scowled.

“I’m not a _kid_. Come on, old man, we’re going training.”

“I’m not an old man, either.”

“That remains to be seen once I kick your ass yet again, _grandpa_.”

Dante sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to his wounded heart.

“That’s the problem with spoiling brats, they get too cocky. Guess I’ll have to teach you to respect your elders, huh?”

_Make you submit_. Nero’s mind flashed to Dante crumbling from his punch, back on the Qliphoth – Dante sprawled, careless, on the floor, and Nero could picture him going down once again, Nero’s hand clenching in his hair, making him bare his throat and offer himself up to Nero’s hunger –

He really _was _fucked up, was he?

***

Vergil liked making cocktails more than drinking them. And least, that was the feeling Nero got from seeing his father experiment with alcohols, syrups, fruits and spices after they’d transformed the kitchen into a laboratory for the evening. The results were okay at first, then, frankly, good: Vergil had bought manuals, professional-level equipment, the works. Not that he could technically _afford_ them, but somehow the twins still (mostly) paid the bills, so Nero had given up on figuring out the Sparda’s financial ways.

“Taste this one,” Vergil said with a slight smile.

He was beautiful when he smiled, maybe because he did so so rarely, and Nero restrained the urge to stare. He took the glass instead, looking at the colored swirls that danced together – bright purple against night-blue, peppered with gold sparks.

“Wow,” Nero whispered, and felt Vergil’s quiet pride at his appreciation.

At first, he’d been unable to reconcile Vergil with V. V smiled – okay, smirked – easily, loved art with quiet ostentatiousness, quoted poetry and hummed music. Hell, Nero had seen him _tapdance _at times, outright ignoring the monsters his demons were mauling, which was admittedly pretty awesome. He moved slowly but eloquently, gestures flowing from his ink-branded hands, and laughed – mockingly or bitterly, most of the time, but he _laughed_.

In comparison, Vergil showed nothing. He was calm and impassive and moved only for the kill. He rarely smiled in front of Nero and certainly didn’t laugh.

At first, Nero’d thought that Vergil didn’t feel anything, and certainly not remorse for the deaths he’d caused as Urizen or the arm he’d torn away from Nero. They'd spent plenty of time together since Vergil returned from Hell — enough that, had Vergil wanted to apologize, he'd had many opportunities. While Nero understood Vergil's motivations well enough that he didn't need an apology, the lack of concern on Vergil's part was enough to make his resentment on the topic linger and fester. It had ultimately culminated in a particularly ugly fight, one where Dante had ripped into Nero with words harsh enough to hurt demon and human.

One where Vergil had quietly bowed his head and knelt on the floor and articulated “I’m sorry,” and it had taken Dante and Nero aback enough that they’d instantly calmed down.

After that, Nero hadn’t doubted Vergil’s humanity anymore.

Still, Vergil’s moments of vulnerability were rare and, curse the Savior, always swept Nero with a mixture of fascination and – nowadays – arousal, fondness or all three. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and took a sip from the cocktail that’d been handed to him.

It was sugary, strange, somehow both artificial and fancy-tasting. Not bad, just… new. Nero took one more mouthful, trying to identify the flavors that sizzled on his tongue.

“What do you think?” Vergil asked.

“It’s pretty good.”

“Can I taste it?”

“Huh? Yeah, I mean –”

_You made it, so you don’t need my permission_. The words remained unsaid, though, because Vergil raised his hand and reached for Nero’s face, his diamond-hard gaze holding Nero’s own.

Fingertips caressed Nero’s lips, soft and careful. The hard edge of a nail slid over the curve of his mouth, sending electric warmth curling into his guts. He had to say something. He had to object.

“Vergil –”

His voice sounded husky, needy, desperate. Vergil smiled slightly, and Nero’s heart clenched hard in his chest.

He wanted – he _needed_ –

He couldn’t.

“You’re drunk,” Nero said desperately. How many drinks had Vergil had? Too many, that was the answer.

“Yes.”

Okay. No. He gripped Vergil’s hand, trying to push it away. Vergil, of course, resisted him with surprising strength, because his father wasn’t the kind of man to let himself be diverted from a bad idea.

“Listen – you don’t know what you’re doing!”

Vergil had the _gall _to quirk an eyebrow at him as if _Nero _was the unreasonable one. He looked so calm, and Nero couldn’t avert his gaze from the cold eyes that held his.

“Of course I know, Nero. I’m standing in front of you, touching your lips. They’re warm and slightly wet; they’d taste like alcohol. I’d slide my fingers down to your throat if you’d let me.”

Nero couldn’t think, couldn’t push him away. Something in V had always held his fascinated obedience, and something in Vergil did, too, as buried as it was beneath the grudge of defeat and an arm torn asunder. He tried to pull away; it was almost physically painful.

“I’m not Dante,” he choked out.

It should have snuffed out his desire. It didn’t. The beast roiling in his veins actually _reveled _in the thought – rubbing his scent on the hollow of Vergil’s pale, strong neck, marking the inside of his thigh and the small of his back, mapping his touch so that Dante would find the evidence later (and touch Nero, too, pin him to the mattress, make Nero take it –)

“I noticed.”

When had Nero let go of Vergil’s hand? It was touching his throat, now, fingers sliding over Nero’s Adam’s apple and down to the line of his collarbones with an owner’s calm assurance.

“You – you can’t – you can’t do that to Dante!”

Vergil glared at him, suddenly irritated.

“What are you talking about? I can, and he can do that to me if he wants to. We’re in a relationship.”

It took a moment for Nero’s distressed and lust-addled brain to realize what his father’s drunk ass was talking about.

“That wasn’t what I meant!”

Now Vergil’s hand was closing on his throat and Nero wanted (the bite of his teeth, instead, or to tear it off of him and put his fangs at Vergil’s neck) _nothing to do with it_, because Vergil was drunk and clearly not in his right mind.

“I’m giving you ten seconds to make a decision,” Vergil said sharply. “I know you want me. _Us_. I want you. Dante wants you. Either accept it or refuse it, but stop dawdling.”

Nero gaped at him, his mind drawing a temporary blank.

“W-What the _hell_?”

Vergil just stared at him, straight and proud and the most composed drunkard Nero had ever seen in his life.

“Your ten seconds are up. If you don’t want me kissing you, push me away right now.”

Of course Nero couldn’t push him away any more that he could tear his own arms off.

Vergil’s lips tasted far headier than the alcohol.

When they broke the kiss, the fucker collapsed _asleep _in Nero’s arms.

***

Nero dragged him to bed and then headed downstairs to get plastered by himself in the kitchen. There wasn’t anything else to do but spar, and his only close adversary was gently snoring with his face buried in a pillow.

He didn’t quite remember the rest of the evening, just that Dante came back at one point.

“Y-you have… ten minutes to make a cedision,” Nero informed him from the sofa where he lay sprawled, head hanging over the armrest. “I know you want... stuff, so d-don’t… don’t doodle.”

“What?”

“Don’t doodle. I’m – I’m kissing you if you don’t want to so… Fuck.”

How had Vergil said it? It’d sounded cool and sexy. Nero moaned. He felt sick. Dante approached – his presence a burning, familiar furnace of power. He smelled like blood and gunpowder, clothes still sprayed with tainted ichor.

“Nero, what happened?”

“Vergil ki… kissed me,” Nero managed to inform him.

There was an uncharacteristic silence from Dante.

“And you were as smashed as you are now?”

“No! He was!”

“Ah.”

Another silence. Dante knelt at his side, one of his hands sliding into Nero’s hair.

“Did you like it?” Dante asked, softly.

“I did,” Nero moaned. “He was drunk.”

“Yeah, he’s an asshole like that. Wanna get to bed?”

“’Issis flirting?” Nero asked suspiciously.

“Nah, it’s called ‘putting your drunk ass to bed to discuss this later.’ A secret technique of mine.”

“Yeh d-don’t want me,” Nero accused.

“Bed.”

Nero whined, feeling his eyes tingle with the beginning of tears. He’d never felt so lonely and desolate in his _life_.

“You don’t… I’mma be alone and… and sad and… you’ll b-be two in the bed and I'll be on the couch and then I'm gonna die from alone because I'm gonna be sad forever” he sobbed.

After this point, Nero’s memories were pretty hazy but, based on what he could remember, it was probably his fault that he woke up six hours later in the twins’ bed.

***

There were a number of things in Nero’s life that he deemed outright unfair. The fact that the twins were so good at working together even when they weren’t fully aware of their surroundings was one of them.

Pinned on the bed by Dante and Vergil, Nero glared at them both.

“Do you always attack whoever moves too fast in your bed?”

“Actually, yes,” Dante admitted with a sheepish grin.

“Dante bites,” Vergil pointed out.

“Well, and Vergil slashes,” Dante retorted with an accusing gesture of his chin toward his brother. “You’re lucky Yamato didn’t end up stabbed somewhere important, Nero.”

“At least it’s safer,” Vergil ‘Last Word’ Sparda declared calmly while (finally) unhanding Nero.

“Yeah, I always feel safer when I wake up with a sword through my throat.”

Vergil snickered. Dante pouted. Nero sat and tried to mentally debrief the past twenty-four hours. They could mostly be summarized by alcohol, incest and panic. Also –

“Shit, Dante, I’m sorry.”

Dante grinned. Nero scowled at him.

“You were adorable. Vergil doesn’t get that cute when he’s drunk.”

Yeah, Vergil got _sexy_. Or unconscious. Nero buried his face in the pillow, painfully aware of the fact that he was only wearing a ratty T-shirt and a pair of boxers. There was a silence that Dante broke with his usual levity.

“See, your father has a superpower: when he gets drunk, his brain just throws away any process that isn’t directly relevant to his current objective. He goes from single-minded to single-thoughted, and let me tell you –”

“-- that I’m a fool who can’t get to the point,” Vergil completed all too calmly. “We want you. What do _you_ want?”

Nero’s thoughts briefly stopped, flooded by a mix of lust, panic, old Fortunean guilt and new demonic avidity.

The twins _wanted_. Wanted _Nero_.

And fuck, he was going to _get them_.

“Do you even have to ask that question?” He retorted, aware of the roughness of his voice.

“Dante says I do,” Vergil answered.

Nero didn’t bother with an answer and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling himself up for a kiss. Instantly, Dante was against his back – lips brushing hot against his skin, mouthing as the shape of his spine with just the barest hint of teeth. Nero almost choked on sheer lust, moaning against Vergil’s mouth.

His father kissed with the same ruthlessness he showed in anything else: focused, demanding, graciously accepting Nero’s hunger only to expect a tribute in kind. He bit Nero’s lips, sweetening the sharp tang of copper pain with a slide of his tongue. Dante’s hands were roaming down Nero’s back, his hips, slow and so calmly appreciative while Nero was left feeling like he was going to _die_ at any moment just from the intensity of it all.

Vergil broke the kiss and caressed his lips, his gaze so fucking intent, so fucking attentive – as if Nero was some fascinating new problem, an enemy to wrestle to the ground, and the idea shouldn’t have been so sexy, except it was.

(His _father_, Savior. And the idea just made his blood burn hotter.)

“Dante told me I was to give you an out at all times.” Vergil explained, close against his ear. “I’ll be expecting you to say what you want, how you want it. If you stop, I stop. Is that clear enough?”

“Yeah,” Nero hurried to answer.

“Tell us what you want, then.”

“Jesus, _Vergil_ –” Dante cut in, disapproval obvious in his voice. Care, too. As if Nero was still a kid, was still something to be _protected _from Vergil.

“Shut up, Dante,” Nero snapped before the twins could launch into yet another petty quarrel. “I want – I want to fuck you… Vergil.”

He was vaguely aware that he should have focused more on preliminaries, preparations and a hundred things that didn’t really matter right now. A spark of something dark and avid danced into Vergil’s eyes, a hint of pink coloring his cheekbones; desire. Nero knew the twins wanted him, of course, but seeing the proof of it just made everything twice as hot.

“And how do you want to shut Dante up, Nero?”

Dante’s head snapped toward his twin. Nero’s mind filled in the blank with a celerity that belied the lust gripping every strand of his soul.

“His mouth.”

“You are both assholes,” Dante informed them. Cold dread sank into Nero’s guts, dousing his arousal.

“If you don’t want to…”

“He does,” Vergil retorted, throwing his twin a disapproving glance. “He just needs to complain.”

Dante suddenly grinned at Nero and kissed him – not gentler than Vergil but slower, more curious, taking his time to enjoy and discover; a tangle of their tongues, rivalry in their caresses.

“I’m terribly oppressed,” Dante explained when they broke for air. “I’ll need you to make a lot of noise as emotional support.”

“_Asshole_!” Nero cursed him with feeling, fear leaving him. “I won’t make a sound!”

Vergil raised an eyebrow at him. Usually, Nero was bad at reading him, but right now, the “you are making your dangerous, dangerous bed and you’ll lie in it”-ness of his expression was clear enough.

Whatever, he could take it.

He _thought_ he could take it, at least, until his uncle’s laughing mouth slowly slid down his sternum, licking a hot line of desire along his abdomen to his erect cock. Nero was already having difficulties breathing by the time Dante took him into his mouth, sparks of pleasure dancing along oversensitive flesh to burst into mindless need. It took a moment for Nero to tear his attention away from his uncle’s wonderful, hellish mouth (taking him deeper, quicker, the hot coil of his tongue and the obscene clutch of his throat ripping growing whimpers from Nero’s lips) to look at his father, trying to anchor himself in the moment.

Vergil was naked, lying on the pillows with the tranquil assurance of a prince. His long, skilled fingers were between his thighs, moving slowly – minutely – fucking himself open as his gaze held Nero’s own. 

Nero’s hands clenched in Dante’s hair before he could think and then he was fucking his uncle’s mouth, hearing the broken, pleased noises that vibrated against his cock as Dante gripped his hips and just let him use him as he saw fit. Power sizzled strong as an aphrodisiac in Nero’s gut as he took his uncle and watched his father prepare himself for _him_.

He came deep in Dante’s throat, choked by pleasure, curling around Dante’s head and crying out a mix of moans and praises that would mortify him later.

Dante rose up from his panting form and winked, sticking his tongue out at him to give him a glimpse of the thick evidence of his marking. He was hard, too, eyes teary, lips bruised from the abuse they’d taken – and yet supremely confident, like Vergil.

Two beasts, two elder demons, two elder _men _welcoming Nero into their bed, showing him how to take what he needed. He’d just come but he already felt dizzy with new arousal, reaching out to caress the powerful muscles on the inside of Vergil’s thigh. They jumped under his touch, Vergil’s hips canting on their own.

“He’s ready,” Dante said.

His voice was a bit huskier than usual, from desire or from his deepthroating.

“I _see _that,” Nero snapped.

“Then say it,” Vergil retorted.

He was hard, sweat shining on his furrowed brow, muscles rigid with coiled desire, but Nero knew he wouldn’t move before he got Nero’s defeat. Pride was the very last thing on Nero’s mind at the moment; he reached out slowly, kissed Vergil’s throat, sucked at his skin to leave dark bruises that faded too quickly.

“I want to fuck you.”

“Ask politely.”

Five, maybe ten minutes earlier, Nero would have replied with a _fuck you_. Right now, though, he felt nothing but the urges to bury himself into the tight heat that Vergil had opened for him, to pound him deep and fast until he knew exactly how his father felt tensed all around him –

“_Please_, Vergil. Let me fuck you. Let me make you feel good, I want. I want to hear you. I want – I can – I’ll be good.”

Nero was begging and he didn’t care, couldn’t care about anything but Vergil’s pleased shiver, the way his father’s legs opened for him and possessive hands caressed his hair and his face. He felt dizzy, drunk with desire, with human tenderness and demonic hunger. Taking, giving, _belonging_.

“Go ahead.”

Nero almost sobbed with relief, burying himself into that firm, welcoming body, feeling inhuman strength embrace him all around. He lost himself in the moment; pleasure, clutching and trembling, sharp from Vergil and Dante’s biting and clawing, honey-sweet from the caress of their hands and lips; Vergil’s silent pants, the slivers of his human voice, the demonic growls he let loose against Nero’s throat, and Dante’s praises and moans and his cries, vulnerability offered up with the regal assurance of a beast too powerful to fear weakness.

His, they were _his _– and just that thought alone filled Nero with desire and pleasure and joy and a pain so tender he lost himself in it.

***

Nero woke up firmly captured in the twins’ embrace. He felt used, content, loved, and downright filthy.

“I need a shower,” he informed Dante.

His uncle nuzzled against his hair, humming with satisfaction. “Don’t you.”

“No, I’m serious. I’m – _we _are sticky. We needed a shower like six hours ago.”

“Fascinating.”

Nero sighed, irritated. Behind him, Vergil sighed softly, breathing in his smell.

“Vergil! Help me out there!”

No answer. Nero rolled his eyes. He instinctively knew what he had to say. He’d just hoped he wouldn’t have to descend to this level so early in their… in the… in what they had together, now.

"I'll hold Dante down for you next time if you let me go."

Vergil instantly unhanded him, already rising, while Dante protested indignantly about the unfairness of it all.

Nero didn’t know if he should be proud of the fact that he understood the twins so well. He couldn’t help but feel quiet satisfaction, though, both his demon and human sides united for once – incest be damned.

He was wanted. _Loved_. It was love in the twins’ kisses, their bites, marking Nero and each other and offering up their throats and lips in return.

He was part of their fucked-up family and he loved it, loved _them_, and he would accept all of them except –

Vergil was never drinking again without Dante to help as a co-wrangler.


End file.
